Twenty-one years
by madeinfrance
Summary: "The months pass. She always makes sure to keep her eyes on the horizon." Post-AWE, Will x Elizabeth x Henry.


"Keep a weather eye on the horizon," he whispers. His eyes linger on her lips, her face.

Before she can say anything else, he turns away.

* * *

The Dutchman is long gone when she finally moves.

Finally _can_ move.

As the night grows darker around her, she forces her eyes away from the horizon, and slowly backs away.

* * *

She starts looking.

Elizabeth was not brought up to believe in legends and mythical stories, but if there's anything the last couple of years have taught her, it's that the world beholds far more secrets than her mind can even begin to imagine.

She reads, listens, asks about every tale, every rumor. None of them is what she's looking for, but she doesn't stop.

* * *

Before she can go any further, she falls sick. It's not a surprise, she thinks, given the amount of travel, of sleepless nights wondering what the sea is doing to him as she lays awake, his beating heart next to her.

Still, on the third day, she knows no sickness has found her.

She cries, her own heart torn between a joy she's rarely known, and the pain at the idea that Will won't even know that he's a father before his child has grown to be a small man.

* * *

(She doesn't know why she thinks she's expecting a son, really. She simply does.)

* * *

She thinks about going back to Port Royal.

It's the only home she's ever known, in the end. There's people she knows there, and despite everything that happened after Lord Beckett set foot on their docks, she knows she'll be welcomed. Helped, if needed.

Her father was a very respected man until the end.

That's the best thing to do, so that's what she does.

She knows it will only be temporary, though. Knows where she has to go to raise their child as close to his father as she can.

(Where she can feel as close to him as she can.)

Still, as life starts growing inside of her, she stays where they both grew up, sometimes losing herself on the lower sides of the village where he used to live, in the recluded spots where he used to take her, in the small streets where they used to wander hand in hand, laughing at the glances and mumbles of those shocked by the Governor's daughter that fell for the blacksmith turned pirate.

She doesn't cry. It's never been in her habits to cry, and once the rare tears that escaped her have dried, she doesn't allow them to anymore.

It's not who she is. She's Wheatherby Swann's daughter, raised to be strong, William Turner's wife, loved to be fierce. She's a King, she's a pirate, she's her own woman, and now is certainly not the time for weakness.

The safety of their baby comes first, and she doesn't leave Port Royal nor consider leaving it, but her search doesn't stop. She keeps digging, keeps sending letters to those that might be able to help her, keeps seeking for any document that can help her.

Help him.

There's not a day when she doesn't think about him - and swears to herself to bring him back to land.

To them.

* * *

"And that is how your father managed to make possibly the worst impresion he could have on his first diner with your grand father," she chuckles, hand running on her rounded belly.

She feels small feet kicking under it, and a rush of affection runs through her, warming her whole body.

"I know. He came back from it, though, don't worry. Now time to sleep, little man."

* * *

She gives birth on a rainy night.

The moment they put him into her arms, her entire life suddenly changes, her entire world shifting on its axis. Nothing, she knows, will ever be the same, because now, he's the center of her universe.

Their son.

He's perfect.

"Hey, there," she chuckles, her chest tight with more love than she's ever felt as her fingers gently run over his face.

He's so small, so delicate.

She looks at his tiny hands, his small nose, his eyes, still closed for now. He still grabs her finger when she gives it to her, and her heart skips a bit.

Smiling, she leans down and drops a gentle kiss on his forehead, holding back the traitorous tears she feels coming as she whispers to him how proud his father would be.

* * *

She names him Henry.

Henry Turner - worthy son, she already knows, of his father.

* * *

Despite Constance's advice, it's not long before they move.

She keeps telling her that it's okay, that it's not that far - because really, it isn't - that everything's settled, that they'll be fine.

Still, her old maid and friend worries, looking at her like she's lost her mind as she gently holds Henry in her arms.

Elizabeth simply smiles, telling her everything will be okay.

When they settle in the light house, with green all over and the ocean open before them, she knows they will be.

* * *

Time becomes a paradox.

It feels like the amount of it separating her from Will keeps stretching, the highly anticipated day of their reunion always way too far, yet every time she lays eyes on their son, she swears he's grown again.

He just doesn't stop, the little devil.

He has his eyes and her hair, laughs at every one of her goofy faces, listens with an endearing, concentrated look in the most adorable way when she tells him stories.

His favorite are always the ones about pirates.

* * *

Henry keeps growing, and she keeps searching.

Not as thoroughly as she wishes, of course, but she still doesn't stop.

She never will.

* * *

The months pass.

She always makes sure to keep her eyes on the horizon.

* * *

" _Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack_."

Gently rocking him, she runs her hand on his back, his head settled in the crook of her neck.

" _Drink up me 'earties, yo ho_ ," she sings quietly, feeling his breathing slows down.

Every time.

" _Maraud and embezzle and even highjack_." She feels his eyes flutter close against her skin, and smiles as she drops a delicate kiss in his thick hair.

" _Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._ "

* * *

A year turns into two, then into three.

Her little boy learns how to walk, how to talk. He's looking more and more like both of them, except for his smile – his beautiful smile, that's a hundred percent Will.

She tells Henry about him a lot. He asks just as much, even at such a young age.

He asks about who his father is, and she tells him about the young man, the blacksmith, the pirate. He wants to know what he looks like, and she describes him with every detail, from his dark hair to his tanned skin. He wonders why he's not here, home and with them, and she explains to him that he wants to, that there's nothing he wants more, but he can't.

Because of a fate that's bigger and stronger than any of them, he simply can't.

He asks why, of course.

At that, Elizabeth just answers the truth.

He has a duty to honor.

* * *

She finds out about a trident. It's whispers at first, but then she keeps digging because she can feel it, she can feel there's something there.

And there is.

The Trident of Poseidon, holder of all the powers of the sea. They say its greatness knows no bounds, that hundreds of souls have gone looking for it for such a discovery would made them gods themselves.

But of course, nobody has ever found it.

She spends sleepless nights reading and re reading everything she has, making notes of where and with who she can learn more about it, but it's no use: the Trident, it seems, is lost.

It is, has been for Gow knows how long, and Elizabeth knows that – she does. Yet a part of her can't help but think that they've done the impossible before. More than once.

Destined to the quiet and obedient life of a Governor's daughter, she had managed to help take down one of the greatest pirates alive, save herself, get engaged to the man she loved and not the one that society wanted for her. She hadn't stop there: she had fought for him, and despite the odds, they had beaten the great Davy Jones, his kraken, and had even cheated death itself by bringing Jack back from the beyond.

Surely, impossible didn't mean anything anymore. Surely, she could find a way to put her hand on something so simple as a Trident.

She had to – she _has_ to.

Nothing would stand in her way, if it was just her – nothing. Her heart is beating faster at the mere idea of it: she can do it. There's a hope to bring Will back, to save him, to have him right there, with her -

"Mother?"

Her eyes snap open at the small voice, and she turns to see him standing there, his own eyes still half closed, his small blanket in his hand.

"Hey," she smiles, kneeling to catch him as he approches, drapping his little arms around her neck. "I didn't hear you come down."

"I had a nightmare," is his only explanation as she gets up and leans back on the doorframe, facing the sea again as he nuzzles under her chin. "Did you have a nightmare too?"

How she wishes it were that simple.

"Something like that," she whispers, fingers drawing his brown hair off his forehead with gentle strokes. "The sea calms me down," she explains, setting her eyes back on the horizon, on the moon reflecting on the dark waters.

"I like the sea, too." She smiles.

The contrary would have been surprising, given the blood that runs in this veins.

"Where?" Her small smile falls a bit at that, her lips grazing his skin. It's become their game, over the years.

Wondering what sea he's currently sailing at the exact moment they're facing the ocean, what border is lucky enough to be near him when they don't have that chance. Not a day goes by where she doesn't wander - where is he, indeed.

 _Too far_ is always the first answer that comes to her.

"I don't know – the cold waters, maybe? Where do you think?"

"Maybe the cold waters, yes."

They stay like that, both lost in their own thoughtsn before he speaks again. "Do you think he comes to see us, sometimes? On his boat, even he can't step on the land?"

She's wondered about it more than once, in fact. Wondered if he sometimes turns his ship around to be near them, or if it's too painful to bear. Sometimes, she thinks she can feel him closer.

Then again, maybe it's just her own ache making her crazy. It wouldn't be that suprising, really.

"Maybe, yes."

"Do you think he knows I exist?"

"It's possible," she answers sincerely, planting a small kiss in his hair.

And it is, really. It's no secret in Port Royal and in the area that she bore Will Turner's child, no secret to the wanderers of the sea that the Pirate King had the son of the Dutchman's cursed captain.

There's no tangible reason to think so, of course, but yet a part of her is sure he already knows. "But even if he doesn't, I know he'll love you the moment he sees you," she assures.

"You think so?"

She smiles.

"Absolutely."

* * *

(She can't go, of course. Even if every cell in her body is drawing her to, even if it's killing her – she just can't. Not now, anyway.

For now, she thinks as she carefully puts him back in his bed, she has to raise and protect their son.)

* * *

Will is his hero.

She supposes the fact that she's always made sure he knows about him, and the way she can't help but talk about him certainly played a part, but it's more than that. He adores him.

The stories about or including him are his favourites, and no matter how many times he's heard them, he's always asking her to tell them again. He's never far away from his wooden sword, and he's always reminding her of their daily lesson before she has the time to forget about them because he wants to fight as well as his father – and wants him to be proud, she knows.

She loves those moments with him, where she can pass on to him what Will has taught her so long ago. It would be a lie to pretend it doesn't remind her of old times, as well. Exciting ones, as dangerous as they might have been – ones that she will always cherish, despite everything.

She loves teaching him, but she also loves that _he_ loves it, loves Will so much, is interested in him so much. It's not surprising to have him ask a random question about him out of the blue, or to find him with his telescope, keeping an eye on the waters.

( _Just in case_ , he admits to her one day. Maybe, just maybe, Calypsso will see how eager they are to see him, and let him come home before.

Elizabeth doesn't have the heart to shatter his hopes.)

* * *

Another year, then another one.

* * *

He's getting bigger.

Smarter, sharper, more agile. He's funny as well, always trying to make her laugh, make her smile, even – especially – when she doesn't want to.

(Taking care of her, she knows. Her little angel.)

He's also incredibly head strong, something that she knows Will would say he takes from her, even if really, it's both of them. He does gets angry sometimes, and when it's at nothing, she knows it's because that day, the unfairness and injustice of their situation is a little too hard on him, too much for his small shoulders. On those days, she brings her to him, even if he doesn't want to, and thread her fingers in his silk air to soothe him.

"How much longer, Mother?" he asks, hand in hers as they walk home from his classroom. She manages to hold back her desperate sigh.

"A few months, my love," she says, strocking his fingers. "Just a few more months."

* * *

Slowly tracing the inscriptions on it, she lets her finger wanders on every surface of the chest, the material cold against her skin.

The steady beats of his heart lure her to sleep.

That night, like many times before, Elizabeth dreams of the Trident that belonged to the god of the sea himself.

* * *

The days come and go, but not fast enough.

As the one they crave for comes closer and closer, they both get restless. His eyes, almost always on the sea, are brighter than ever, and when he looks up at her, she can't help her own smile.

And then, it's finally here.

As she opens her eyes, her thoughts immediately focus on one thing. Today, her son gets to meet his father. Today, she gets to see her husband again.

Today, after ten years, Will comes home.

* * *

As the sun sets, her heatbeat skyrockets, and next to her, she knows that Henry's does as well.

The moment it disappears, everything stops.

A second, a green flash, and the Dutchman appears out of thin air - and just like that, she starts breathing again.


End file.
